


Just Another Day at the Office

by CharleyFoxtrot



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Gen, Gift Fic, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:33:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharleyFoxtrot/pseuds/CharleyFoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Reno's fault (It's always Reno's fault).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Day at the Office

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Woodster](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Woodster).



> This was a gift via the [Genesis Awards](http://genesisawards.net/forums/index.php) Winter Gift Exchange. Extravagant thanks to [Kaj-Nrig](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/65220/Kaj-Nrig) for beta-reading for me and [Pen Against Sword](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/683596/Pen-Against-Sword) for cheering me on.
> 
> As usual, you can find me at my tumblr, disease-danger-darkness-silence.tumblr.com.

Tseng stared at his subordinate with something akin to horror.

“You can’t be serious,” he said.

Reno’s return smile was of the shit-eating variety; it was the redhead’s usual expression, only this time his eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Dead serious, boss-man,” Reno replied. He looked delighted to report it.

Tseng let out a sigh, closing his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose. This was going to be a long day.

 

**=====**

 

Oh, they weren’t Shinra _officially_ ; even after all of the news had come out about Rufus funding the WRO, they hadn’t wanted the stigma attached to the name. Mostly, these days, everyone just called it R&D, because that’s what they _were_.

They didn’t make weapons anymore, outside of the swords they had developed for the Gongaga area (there had been a market for something to eradicate the pants-shittingly terrifying and _humongous_ preying mantises that infested the area). No, R&D did all sorts of things, from developing specialized armor for the WRO to a line of bath and beauty products that was outselling on every continent outside of Wutai. The company was _officially_ called Applied Technology, but even in the smaller towns people tended to refer to it as R&D.

Everyone knew that if you had a problem that could be solved with science, R&D could probably do the solving. Hell, the bulk of their profits these days came in the form of finding unique answers to oftentimes _more_ unique questions.

_“Dear sir or madam, I had the thought the other day that a pre-emptive potion against stone might be useful here, seeing as Cosmo Canyon is infested with stone creatures. Yours...”_

_“To whom it may concern; I was wondering if you guys know how to make a shower curtain stay put while you’re showering instead of catching on you. Might be useful. Sincerely...”_

_“Any chance that there might be a market for a pill that can sober you up? I could use one right about now. Much obliged...”_

Yeah, R&D got its fair share of questions, and the bulk of the company’s resources were aimed at _answering_ those questions (in the form of cost-effective, marketable products).

They had some of the best testing facilities on the planet, just to the southern edge of the desert and just in the middle of nowhere enough that, so far, they’d had no mishaps. Between the quicksands that surrounded them, the river that cut them off from Gongaga, and the large, _impressive_ electric fence they’d erected to separate them from the Gold Saucer, nothing seemed likely to get through.

Until now.

 

**=====**

 

Tseng liked his new job. Oh, sure, the Turks were _officially_ disbanded these days; aside from the odd information-gathering mission or co-op with the WRO, his men (and woman) tinkered about with R&D-related things. Reno and Rude had entirely too much fun blowing shit up in the Applied Technology test lab (ostensibly, this had research purposes; realistically, the two of them would blow things up _in public_ if there wasn’t a controlled area for their hijinks), and Elena was busy heading up the marketing and public relations department. Tseng had a knack for numbers, and he essentially ran the budgeting and HR department. Allocating funds and resources, sending a gentle email to Elena when the time was ripe for damage control (usually right about when they’d let Reno and Rude out to play; it was a PR _nightmare_ ), and generally making sure business ran smoothly was the word of the day.

There was more to it than that, of course; Rufus relied on Tseng to make sure the entire _company_ ran to his specifications when he wasn’t around to oversee it. Which happened more and more often these days, as he courted a certain Wutaian princess (whom he’d fallen hopelessly in love with a few years prior).

Tseng got very good at his job, _very_ quickly.

To someone like Tseng, it was almost relaxing. It was like he’d reached retirement age (something no Turk in living memory - outside of the immortal Vincent Valentine - had ever achieved), settling down into a quiet, easy, _normal_ life. Of course, he still worked, but it was _enjoyable_ work, and nothing pleased him more than a job well done.

Today was _not_ going to be a job well done.

“When did it get out?” he demanded, stalking down the hallway; Reno and Rude trailed behind him. His PA, an intelligent man with blond hair and blue eyes (and _highly_ recommended by Reeve), stood at the end of the hallway, waiting. His name was Mihael and he’d been next in line to become a Turk before Shinra had come crashing down.

Mihael watched the former Turks impassively. He held a silver case at his side that Tseng was certain contained everything Tseng would need to deal with the situation, and likely a few things he didn’t _realize_ he would need.

Mihael was _very_ good at his job.

“Two hours ago,” Rude supplied. The three of them came to a stop in front of Mihael, who held out the case. Tseng took it from him before asking his next question.

“ _How_?”

Reno grinned, patting his side to reassure himself that his gun and electro-mag rod were in place before following after Tseng and Rude. “That would be my bad, boss. I was just takin’ it for a test spin.”

Tseng sighed, somehow completely unsurprised. “You _do_ realize that if word of this gets out you’re going to have to work mandatory overtime to fix your own problem.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Reno replied, easy. “But it won’t get to that.”

They turned the corner, Mihael following. At the end of this hallway was the helipad, and if Tseng’s people were as competent as he thought they were - and they _definitely_ were - there would be a helicopter, fueled up and ready to go, waiting for them.

“It didn’t occur to you that something made of plassteel and containing a working Artificial Intelligence system might decide to, I don’t know, _escape_?”

“Oh, sure it did, sir,” Reno said. He didn’t even seem to care, which was one of the traits Tseng hated the most about his subordinate.

“Reno misunderstood the statistical mathematics involved,” Rude said, his voice heavy with disappointment. Tseng approved: Rude may be Reno’s partner in crime, but he respected the science behind their work. “The prototype was in no way ready to be tested by a live human.”

“Which everyone in this building understood,” Tseng said. “Except, apparently, for Reno.”

Reno shrugged, suave and uncaring as he smirked at his supervisor. “We’ll take care of it. We always do.”

“There is a PR team ready on the off-chance that this attempt fails,” Mihael said, tactfully, from behind them. “Elena is already preparing the press release, which is scheduled to go out in four hours if they do not hear from us in the interim. The prototype is, if the GPS is to believed, a minimum of four and a half hours away from the nearest settlement at Gongaga.”

Tseng nodded. “Good. You’ll be on comm for the duration of the mission. Check in with Elena at thirty-minute intervals.”

“Yes, sir,” Mihael said, nodding. The four of them entered the last room in the hallway, donning flight gear, weapons, and helmets before striding out the door and across the tarmac.

The helicopter was, as promised, waiting at the center of the pad; Mihael sat in the pilot’s seat and waited for his superiors to strap in before switching on the comm.

“Are we ready, sir?” he asked.

Tseng gave him a thumbs up, the only signal his capable assistant needed before starting his bird up and leaning into a smooth takeoff.

Yes, Tseng really had made the right choice in hiring him. He made a mental note to approve a raise for him should they survive this mission.

 

**=====**

 

They had just crossed the river when everything went silent.

Next to him, Mihael froze. “Sir,” he shouted, over the now-rushing wind from outside. “We appear to have been neutralized by an EMP burst.”

“You’ve got to be _kidding_ me,” Tseng spat out. “Whose idea was it to include EMP capability?”

“It _doesn’t_ have that capability, sir,” Rude informed him, somehow managing to be heard over the din. “It does, however, have artificial intelligence.”

“Yee _haw_ ,” Reno drawled. “I love a good e- _mer_ -gen-cy landing.”

“This is your fault,” Tseng informed the redhead as he watched the ground rush closer to them. Mihael was struggling with the flight panel, desperately trying to deploy flaps via controls that no longer functioned.

“Oh, come on, I was just havin’ a little fun,” Reno protested.

Several seconds later, their bickering was interrupted as Mihael reared back with his left arm, curling his fingers up into a fist, before striking the main data access console of the chopper with the butt of his hand. There was a rather thrilling series of sparks followed by a less-thrilling burning smell, and Tseng witnessed his PA pulling at the innards of the chopper and doing something that looked, to borrow from Reno’s lexicon, _shady as fuck_.

Seconds before they were about to hit the ground, power flickered around them. Reno made a whooping noise just as Tseng felt his spine compress; collision never came, however, and while pieces of the chopper rained down around them (including, Tseng noted with dismay, bits of the primary propeller) he looked at Mihael for an explanation.

“Emergency anti-grav,” Mihael said. He did something else with the wires and a suspicious circuit board that allowed the now-destroyed chopper to lower itself gently to the ground.

“That’s new,” Reno commented, peering around the cabin divider and into the cockpit.

“That doesn’t _exist_ ,” Rude said, overriding his partner.

Mihael smirked. “It does _now_ ,” he said.

The PA unbuckled himself and hopped out of the aircraft. Shortly after, Tseng did the same, dragging the silver case with him. They began a circuit around the helicopter, taking in the damage.

“No way to bring her back online, sir,” Mihael said, regret coloring his voice. “I’ll call in a recovery team to come pick her up, but it might take a few hours.”

“More time than we have,” Tseng said. Reno and Rude came to stand near him, waiting for orders, while Mihael made the call for tech pickup.

They were in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in the vicinity of Gongaga. To his left, Tseng could see nothing but open plains; to his right, the river delta that poured from the Nibelheim River into the ocean. He knew that behind him there would be rugged mountains, full of dangerous cliffs and pitfalls; somewhere beyond _those_ lay the town of Gongaga.

“Sir,” Rude said, pointing. Off in the distance, if one squinted, there was a simple house.

“I think that should be our first destination,” Tseng said. He nodded decisively. “Let’s strip what we can from the chopper and head over there.”

Ten minutes later the quartet struck out, layered down with what gear they could scrounge from the disabled helicopter. Reno carried the comm equipment because Tseng refused to allow him to carry the heavy artillery Mihael had unearthed from beneath the main cabin. The blond PA was carrying said artillery, while Rude had the medic kit strapped to his back. Tseng carried the emergency survival kit (including a two-man tent, and Tseng was _absolutely_ going to be having a word with the quartermaster about a two-man tent being _it_ for a chopper designed to seat up to eight people) and his silver briefcase.

As they made their way toward the house, Tseng was very suddenly reminded of who owned it: Victor Turner, a small-arms dealer and weapon designer that Shinra had tried to hire on for at _least_ a decade before their fall. The man was quite literally a genius when it came to tech, not to mention he crafted some of the best swords on the planet. Sephiroth’s own Masamune had been designed by him, custom-made and hand-folded from a special alloy that the world had never seen before (and would likely never see again).

He was also extraordinarily paranoid. And, once again: small-arms dealer. Tseng stopped them about ten minutes away from the house and turned toward Mihael.

“Drop the cannon,” he ordered. Mihael actually _pouted_ in response, but he obeyed his order, setting the missile launcher on the ground and patting it almost lovingly.

“You honestly want us to approach an unknown house unarmed?” Reno demanded.

Tseng gave him a level look. “You _do_ know whose house this is, right? He won’t take kindly to being threatened, and he’s probably got us outgunned.”

“Possibly outclassed,” Rude chimed in.

Reno crossed his arms, scowling as he sifted through his debauched, alcohol-filled memory.

Tseng sighed. “We don’t have time for this. Just trust me, Reno.”

Thus disarmed, the four of them started walking to the house again.

Really, Tseng should have thought to check for perimeter alarms. After all, he knew who he was dealing with.

Still, being met at the door, face-to-face with the barrel of a large-gauge shotgun that would have made Vincent Valentine jealous? Alarming, to say the least.

 

**=====**

 

Victor narrowed his eyes for several seconds before he started laughing. “Tseng!” he exclaimed, lowering his gun. He reached out with his free hand and clapped the former Turk on the shoulder. “Man, you’re slumming it!”

“We crash-landed not far from here,” Tseng said, heart pounding. He was out of practice; being threatened with any number and manner of weaponry used to be a daily occurrence. He really ought to get back into the field more often if this was the sort of reaction he could expect from himself at gunpoint.

“Right, I thought I heard a commotion,” Victor said, nodding. He stepped aside. “Come on in, guys. Just put a pot of tea on.”

The group settled themselves in Victor’s run-down living room, each nursing a cup of bitter, black tea. Rufus sat with them, quiet for several minutes, before he finally spoke.

“So what brings you to the Gongaga province? Not your usual haunt, even if you _are_ just a hop, skip, and a jump away.”

Tseng’s face twisted into a wry grin. “We’re tracking some lost tech,” he admitted. “Nothing too dangerous, but it needs to be recovered as it’s still in-development.” It was his go-to answer for situations like this, one he’d pondered for the past year (ever since Rufus Shinra allowed Reno and Rude to grace Applied Technology’s hallowed halls). It fell from his lips smoothly, like butter and cream.

“Ah,” Victor said, nodding. “Today’s a busy day for me, as well. A woman stopped by about an hour ago, askin’ after any old electronics garbage I had laying around.”

Tseng froze and turned to look at Reno. Reno shrugged, a grin playing across his lips.

“Did you give it to her?” Tseng said, casually leaning back into his seat.

“Hell yeah,” Victor said, nodding. “Do you know how expensive it is to send that shit up to a recycling center? I’m sure you do, bein’ in charge of R&D an’ all, but it’s a huge chunk of my profits. I was glad to see it go.”

“I’ll make sure to send you a discount card for your generosity,” Tseng replied.

Fifteen minutes later, the group was walking away from Victor’s house, a sack of sandwiches and four rifles (with ammunition) heavier. Once they got to the spot where Mihael had dropped the cannon, they stopped and turned toward each other.

“That thing created an EMP out of old computer and radio parts,” Tseng said.

“No shit,” Reno replied. He was inspecting the rifle, an almost brand-new Winchester Model 70 Coyote Light with a modified ‘scope. It was mostly designed for small game but the aiming capabilities were decent, and the small ammunition could allow them to pinpoint vital targets on the body of their tech.

“I’d say the artificial intelligence works,” Rude said. He sounded equal parts amused and annoyed.

“I think the first indication of that was when it _escaped_ ,” Mihael said, rolling his eyes.

“True that,” Reno replied. He smirked. “We getting this show on the road, bossman?”

Tseng sighed and gestured for Mihael to retrieve his cannon. The PA looked unbelievably (and terrifyingly) happy once he had a handful of heavy arms over his shoulder again.

“Let’s head out. We’ve got just about three and a half hours left to track this thing down,” Tseng said. “Mihael, call Elena en-route and check in. Reno, don’t shoot anything unless you need to. Rude...be on the lookout. That thing’s dangerous.”

All three men nodded, and Tseng felt a brief rush of happiness at his well-trained, if insubordinate, staff. If anyone could salvage this clusterfuck, it was the four of them.

 

**=====**

 

Things went pretty well for about a half hour, up until the moment they got to the mountains surrounding Gongaga. Almost immediately they began to stumble: dress shoes looked sharp when paired with their Turk-style business suits, but they weren’t really meant for rocky terrain.

Then things slipped from bad to worse when Reno plummeted into a twelve-foot pitfall.

The redhead let out a shout and disappeared from view; the other three rushed to the edge to find a smallish cliff with a soft, sandy bed next to a small pool of water at the bottom. Their comrade was sprawled, groaning, half in the sand, half in the water.

Tseng, Mihael, and Rude carefully picked their way down to him, Rude hauling him out of the water with probably more force than was necessary once they achieved their goal. Reno hissed. Fairly soon, it was evident why: the former Turk had broken his right arm (his gun hand, although he was quick to point out that he could wield his electro-mag rod just as efficiently in his left hand as his right) in the fall.

The first-aid kit didn’t have any elixirs, but Mihael set Reno’s arm with a quick snapping noise that made Reno howl in pain, and then offered the other man a potion to begin the healing process.

Scowling, Reno quaffed the medicine, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste before throwing the empty jar into the pool. It was around then that Rude noticed the communications equipment lying just under the surface of the water.

“Can this day get any worse?” Tseng wondered aloud, as Mihael inspected the equipment to see if it was salvageable (short answer: no. Long answer: Reno had not only flooded the circuitry and ruined it, but he’d half-crushed it with his body).

“Yes, sir, it can,” Mihael said, voice steady. He held up his mobile phone. “No mobile signal whatsoever in this area.”

“Awesome,” Reno said, wincing in pain as he stood up. “That gives us about three hours to catch this thing and get to Gongaga before Elena lets this shit go public, right?”

“Right,” Tseng confirmed. “Mihael, remind me when we get back: I want more cellular towers in the Gongaga area.”

“Yes sir,” Mihael said.

“Let’s head out, then,” Tseng said. “Come on, the GPS showed it as moving in this direction before we crashed, so we can only hope it’s still heading for Gongaga.”

Tseng desperately hoped it wasn’t heading for Gongaga.

 

**=====**

 

It was heading for Gongaga.

The only reason they knew this was because once they had escaped the hellish mountain range thirty minutes later and entered the steaming, overheated jungle that surrounded the small town, they were immediately set upon by some of the aforementioned pants-shittingly humongous praying mantises.

Which in itself wouldn’t have been an indicator, except that as the enormous bugs froze them all (if Tseng had bothered to look in his briefcase, he would have found four Ribbons, but alas, he wasn’t having a very good day and his thought process was nil at the moment), all four of them could distinctly hear cruel feminine laughter coming from somewhere near their left.

They stood there, watching the bugs flee from them, staring at each other in mute shock. Tseng allowed himself several minutes of introspection, in which he pondered the life choices that had led him to this moment.

He was right in the middle of trying to figure out if he should have applied to college rather than accepting a Shinra internship when he was 16, when a quiet movement to their right caught his eye. There was a flash of red and a snapping twig, and very suddenly the four R&D employees were staring at the very familiar sight of Vincent Valentine, gun cocked and ready for action.

The former Turk took in the sight for several seconds before sighing, sliding the Cerberus back into its thigh-holster, and rolling his eyes. “When I was a Turk, Ribbons were a required accessory for this area of the world.”

Tseng desperately wanted to retort with something - that they were no longer Turks, that company policy regarding the Gongaga rainforest was actually still the same, that there were extenuating circumstances - but he was frozen stiff and unable to talk.

With another sigh (the sort that only a man dressed in a fluttering red dramatically tattered cape can properly impart), Vincent headed toward the four of them, pulling a potion bottle out of his pocket. As he got closer Tseng could see that it was a portable spell of the type that R&D had been selling recently; it was magic, but it didn’t rely on Mako or Materia to work, thus being more eco-friendly. They’d made a killing on the stuff, and it was one of the first products Applied Technology had sold under their brand name.

Once they were all unfrozen (and equipped with their Ribbons), Vincent demanded an explanation.

“We’re chasing an escaped piece of technology,” Tseng said. His voice was terse, which wasn’t that far out of the way for him, but the man in red made him nervous. There had been rumors and legends about Vincent Valentine in his years with the Turks, and he was pretty sure some of them were _true_.

“What kind of technology?” Vincent demanded. The fingers of the hand that _wasn’t_ encased in a gauntlet trailed almost lovingly over the handle of the Cerberus.

“That’s classified,” Tseng snapped.

Vincent rolled his eyes expressively. “Applied Technology is supposed to be turning over a new leaf,” he said. His voice was as sarcastic as his words. “And yet all I see is Shinra under a new name. Same people, same sketchy practices.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Reno said, sounding actually offended.

There was a rumbling noise coming from Rude. It took a few seconds, but the three company employees - and red-caped menace - all realized at the same time that it was Rude, _laughing_.

Vincent actually looked freaked out.

“It’s an android with a highly experimental and temperamental artificial intelligence system,” Tseng said, after debating with himself for several seconds. Hey, anything to drown out the _highly_ unnerving noise of Rude having a sense of humor.

“Wow, boss, that was alliterative or some shit,” Reno drawled out. Without thinking, Tseng extended his right hand and slapped his subordinate upside the head. “Hey, watch the goods, man! I’m injured!”

Vincent sighed. “Let me guess,” he said. “It has escaped and is heading toward Gongaga.”

Tseng nodded.

Vincent eyed them for several seconds and then nodded. “In the interest of keeping whatever horrors that an AI concocted by the remnants of Shinra could wreak at bay, I will help you.”

Tseng blinked. Next to him, Reno was doing the same, his jaw agape.

“You want to team up with _us_?” the redhead exclaimed.

Vincent ignored him, eyes still on Tseng. “I assume your android is fully capable of extrapolating the quickest route there.”

“Yes,” Mihael said. He would know better than Tseng, anyway. “It’s in possession of complete GPS capabilities, as well.”

“It is perhaps fortunate for you that I know a shortcut,” Vincent said. He turned dramatically, cape swooshing out behind him (although Tseng got the idea that he wasn’t dramatic on purpose; unfortunate wardrobe choices tended to do that to a man). He glanced at the four of them and said, “Try to keep up,” before bolting.

“Shit,” Reno swore, taking off after him.

Tseng didn’t say anything, but he privately agreed with him.

 

**=====**

 

They ran for approximately twenty minutes, Tseng spending each and every one of them thanking the Gods that he’d maintained his physical fitness level despite being saddled with a desk job for the last year, when they were ambushed by a group of Touch Me’s.

“Yech,” Reno said in the aftermath. He was trying and failing to wipe frog guts off of his electro-mag rod. The fact that they were mostly baked on didn’t help matters. “Who the hell decided to name those freak-ass amphibians _Touch Me’s_ , anyway?”

“An unfortunate naming choice,” Mihael agreed. He looked none the worse for wear, and if Tseng weren’t a hundred percent on him he’d suspect that Mihael was actually an android himself. He found himself resenting his PA just the teensiest bit; Tseng, after all, was covered in some sort of disgusting slime that generally resulted in a complete, deep, soul-sucking sleep.

“Zoologists are a disturbed bunch of scientists,” Vincent deadpanned. That unnerving rumbling started up again and Vincent cracked a smile.

“What is my life,” Tseng muttered under his breath. “Vincent Valentine is cracking jokes, and Rude is laughing at them.”

“Sure Cloud got Sephiroth, bossman?” Reno said, equally quiet. He looked unnerved. “Cuz I think Vince over there is getting along with Rude-man, and that’s just _not right_.”

“It must be the end of the world,” Tseng agreed. “For real, this time.”

 

**=====**

 

After that, they struck up a somewhat uneasy comradery. Tseng wasn’t entirely happy with the new addition to their team, and Mihael seemed to have no opinions one way or the other (though he _had_ to know who Vincent Valentine was), but Reno and Rude surrounded the man in red, talking to him about this or that and exchanging war stories. The three seemed to share a universal dislike of Hojo (which Tseng couldn’t blame _anyone_ for) and a love of shady tattoo parlors, although Vincent declined to explain why he liked them, nor show off any body art.

This was done in the spurts between running, which Vincent insisted on. Soon, they only had about an hour left before Elena would hold her press conference, and Tseng’s patience was running out.

“How big is this goddamned jungle, anyway?” he asked. He meant it metaphorically, but Vincent answered.

“Just over five hundred square miles, give or take,” he said.

“Awesome,” Reno commented, rolling his eyes.

“Closer to six hundred,” Mihael said.

Vincent came to a stop and regarded the PA with solemn eyes. “I live here,” he said, lightly. “I know how big the jungles are.”

“I attended Shinra University,” Mihael said, an edge of steel to his voice. “ _I_ know how big this jungle is.”

“Oh yes, I forgot that university experience far outstrips that of real life,” Vincent replied. His voice had no inflection, but Tseng could sense the undercurrent of sarcasm and dislike beneath his tone.

Mihael ground his teeth.

“Okay, you two -”

That was as far as Tseng got before Mihael launched himself at Vincent, knocking Tseng to the side in the process.

The fall was a lot longer than it should have been, and about halfway to the ground Tseng realized he’d been thrown off the edge of yet another miniature cliff.

 _Just great,_ he thought. _Note to self: Mihael does not get that raise._

Tseng landed with a loud crash on something that sounded far more metallic than the ground normally did, and that hurt a great deal more.  
Stunned, he sat up, shaking his head and taking in his surroundings. To his surprise, he was lying on top of a familiar woman with dark hair and porcelain skin, and -

Oh shit, it was the _prototype_.

The android twitched, a spark flying from the corner of its left eye, before it went slack. A whirring inside told Tseng that it was rebooting.

“Reno!” Tseng called out, pulling himself to his feet. Taking quick stock of the situation, he was pleased that he’d only suffered a few minor bruises and bumps, along with a minor cut to the side of his face. From above him, he could see a red head peeking out at him owlishly. “I found the prototype!”

“Stumbled upon it, huh?” Reno said, a smirk appearing on his lips. Tseng briefly wanted to punch him, which for distance reasons was impossible.

“Just get your ass down here and help me with it,” he said. “Bring the others.”

“Sure thing, bossman,” Reno said, throwing a half-assed salute to him before disappearing again.

Tseng pulled his rifle up from where it had landed, several feet away, checking that it was loaded and aiming it toward the prototype, which was now booting up. Its eyes fluttered open, a blank expression on its face as it stared up at the sky for several seconds before rising to its feet.

Reno, Rude, Vincent, and Mihael skidded to a halt in front of them, taking in the scene. Vincent was as pristine as ever, but Mihael had several bruises along his cheekbone and chin, as well as a rather impressive black eye.

Vincent looked perturbed when the android spun around and eyeballed him (with good reason).

“You’re pretty,” the android said.

“Uh,” Vincent replied.

“Very pretty,” it said, walking toward him seductively.

“It seems that the AI brain has gone offline,” Mihael said, frowning. “It’s reverted to its backup programming.”

“Oh, _Christ_ ,” Tseng said, putting his hand up to cover his eyes.

“I like you,” the android said, throwing its arms around Vincent’s shoulders.

“What is happening,” Vincent said. He’d never looked more uncomfortable in Tseng’s presence, ever.

“Well,” Tseng said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “See, the prototype was originally, uh -”

“A sex toy,” Reno said, smirking.

“Before they installed the AI chip, this was how it was _supposed_ to act,” Mihael explained. He looked entirely too amused with the situation; then again, he apparently disliked Vincent, so his discomfort was probably the high point of the PA’s day.

“You made a sex toy,” Vincent said, his voice flat. “And fashioned it in the likeness of _Tifa Lockhart_?”

And really, that was probably what made it so amusing. The prototype (which did, indeed, look just like Tifa) was cuddled up to Vincent, grinding its hips against his side and making cooing noises in her voice. “You’re handsome,” it whispered, grinning and poking Vincent in the cheek.

Vincent ignored it and stared at Tseng, demanding answers as stoically as was possible when one was currently being molested by a robot.

A robot that looked like one of his best friends. Alright, in that light Tseng could kind of see his point. Still, it did nothing to diminish the grin on his face.

“The guys in the lab have an...unfortunate sense of humor,” Tseng said, coughing into his hand. “The final product would never have resembled your friend in any way.”

“What I want to know,” Vincent said, his voice tight, “is how it escaped in the first place.”

“That’d be my fault,” Reno said, raising his hand and not looking at all sheepish while doing it.

“Reno doesn’t always think things through,” Tseng said, eyes narrowing. “He decided he wanted to take the _untested prototype_ on a practice run, which is disgusting, I might add.”

“Hey, this is a slut-shame-free zone,” Reno said, defensively.

“It’s not my fault you’re a deviant,” Tseng replied.

Vincent blinked several times before turning toward Reno, ignoring the prototype plastered to his side. It moved with him, which was kind of hilarious.

“You wanted to have sex with a robot that looks like Tifa,” he said. Like he was trying to understand Reno’s thought process here.

“Sure, who wouldn’t?” Reno asked, shrugging.

Vincent just looked more confused. “I don’t understand. Why would you want to have sex with a robot when you’re already well-acquainted with the real thing?”

There was a thorough silence. Tseng blinked.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

Reno shrugged, grinning. “I wanted to see how it held up to the real deal, man.”

“I have a problem with this,” Tseng said. Even to himself, he sounded put out. “Tifa’s _married_.”

“Sure she is,” Reno agreed, amiably.

“He’s had relations with both of them,” Vincent said, rolling his eyes. “Cloud and Tifa both enjoy an appreciation for Shinra uniforms.”

“How do you -” Tseng stopped himself there, because the conclusion he’d reached was alarming and not something he really wanted to think about.

Vincent smirked. “I may or may not still be in possession of a few of my old uniforms,” he acknowledged.

“Oh _Gods_ ,” Tseng said, feeling vaguely nauseated.

“Hmmm,” Mihael said, contemplative in the silence. “I guess that’s where the extra one came from last Thursday.”

Everyone in the clearing turned and looked at Mihael in stunned amazement.

“What?” he demanded.

“So just to be clear,” Tseng said in a strangled voice. “Is there anyone here who _hasn’t_ had sex with Tifa Lockhart or Cloud Strife? Other than me?”

“I haven’t,” Rude said.

“Yeah, but you’re doin’ the ninja,” Reno objected.

“Yuffie?” Tseng exclaimed. “The woman our _boss_ is trying to _marry_?”

Rude sounded put out at having to explain this, but he did anyway. “We have an arrangement,” he said.

“Oh my _God_ ,” Tseng said, bringing his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “You know what, I cannot deal with this right now. You two,” and he pointed at Reno and Rude. “Shut this thing down, bag it, and mark the coordinates down for pickup. _No_ _sex_.”

“Man, you sure know how to take the fun out of everything,” Reno snarked, but he was already moving to comply, one-handed though he was.

“You,” Tseng said, swiveling toward Vincent. “We need to get to town in the next thirty minutes because otherwise Elena is going to have a press conference about this and we need to stop her. Pronto.”

Vincent looked _highly_ amused as the two former Turks peeled the Tifa-bot away from him. “So that’s why the rush,” he said. “Because it looks like Tifa and you don’t want to announce to the world at large that you have a sex-bot that looks like a world hero running amuck.”

“Exactly,” Tseng said. “And there’s no signal here so we can’t call her off.”

“I am curious,” Vincent said. He crossed his arms and leaned against a nearby tree, appearing for all the world as if he hadn’t a single care to deal with. “Why should I help you now that the robot is taken care of? I’ve done my part, the danger is neutralized.”

Tseng stared at him, mouth agape.

Vincent smirked. With that, he turned and melted into the trees around him, which, _goddamnit_ , Tseng kind of envied that kind of stealth. He turned to Mihael.

“ _Follow him_ ,” he ordered. Mihael nodded and took off.

Tseng glanced down at his watch. He had just about forty minutes to attempt to reach Gongaga. With that in mind, he set out at a brisk run for the town, in the direction that Vincent had originally been leading him.

He really, _really_ hoped that Vincent hadn’t been fucking with them.

 

**=====**

 

Vincent had been fucking with them. Tseng was hopelessly lost thirty minutes later, when he stumbled by accident into the main thoroughfare of Gongaga township.

“Thank... _fuck_...” he gasped out, rushing past a graveyard. In the past he’d always made sure to pay the dead _some_ sort of respect, but he hoped they’d understand if he saved that for later this time around.

He bolted to the nearest shop he could find, an accessory seller’s place, throwing the door open loudly in his haste to access actual, viable technology.

“Phone,” he said. “I need to use your phone.”

The shop owner stared at him with her jaw hanging slightly open. “What?”

“Please, I need to use your phone,” Tseng said, coming up to the counter. “It’s important. You will be compensated.”

He must have had a truly desperate air about him because without another word the woman whirled behind her, grabbing an old-fashioned, corded handset and setting it down on the counter.

“Have at it,” she said, cheerily.

Tseng fumbled with it, keying in Elena’s number from heart. He glanced down at his watch. _Three minutes._

Elena answered. “Elena,” and her voice sounded almost unnecessarily curt.

“It’s Tseng,” he replied. “We have the prototype.”

There was a silence. “We’ve already begun passing out the press releases,” Elena said,

her voice apologetic.

“Get them back,” Tseng hissed. “ _Now!_ ”

He had to wait for several heart-stopping minutes while Elena did just that.

“Too many of them read what was going on, sir,” Elena reported back, several minutes later. “What do you want us to do?”

“Can you pay them off?” Tseng asked. The shop owner was now staring at him in what Tseng could only interpret as a mixture of awe and disgust.

“We can _try_.” Elena clearly didn’t think very highly of their abilities to do so. Tseng let out a groan and brought his hand to his face.

“I need _options_ , Elena,” Tseng said. “Actual, viable, not-fucking-things-up _options_.” Elena went silent for several moments before she spoke again, slow and contemplative.

“The press releases might cover our asses this time around,” she said. A spark of hope flew through Tseng.

“Talk to me.”

 

**=====**

 

Less than 24 hours later, and Tseng was back behind his desk. Where he belonged. His team and the prototype had been recovered, everyone had been put back to medical rights, and he had a cup of coffee in front of him that was absolutely _perfect_.

Things were looking up for Tseng.

It was unfortunate that information about the prototype got leaked out, of course, but Elena was a marketing _genius_. She really was smarter than anyone gave her credit for, and she managed to spin it into a pre-emptive sales tactic; news that R &D was making a sex ‘bot that could alleviate the abuse prostitutes suffered in the slums? _More_ than welcome news for economically disadvantaged areas. The things could be cleaned, you couldn’t contract venereal diseases from them, and their appearance could be customized. That one had escaped after a mishap was a small error, but it had been corrected, she assured the reporters.

Elena threw a quick slideshow together, showing off some of the customized appearances, “Just for show,” she’d tittered, amusing her audience (no one knew how to work a room like Elena. Another oft-unused talent). That Tifa’s face was amongst many was almost unremarkable; women everywhere wanted to be Tifa Lockhart, or at least look like her.

Sure, there was an awful lot of public censure coming their way, but it was a tolerable sort of censure, and the kind that would taper off into a dull, manageable roar after a few weeks. And anyhow, it wasn’t Tseng’s job to deal with it - it was Elena’s.

Tseng left his coffee on his desk for a few minutes, disappearing down the hall to the break room. Mihael had gone out for bagels earlier and Tseng wanted one, goddamnit, before Reno managed to abscond with them all.

He didn’t even _want_ to know what the redhead did with them; Tseng knew for a fact that Reno abhorred bagels. Still, every time the things appeared in the break room and Reno was around, they disappeared like they’d never existed. Tseng let loose a shudder as he selected a blueberry one and slathered it in cream cheese before heading back toward his office.

He caught a flash of red darting around the corner for a second and turned, eyeing the now-innocuous hallway warily. After several seconds of contemplative silence, he shrugged and headed back toward his office.

Tseng sat back down and dealt with several minor things on his computer - approving construction of cellular towers around Gongaga was officially approved, for one, and Victor Turner was getting a rather generous discount card for recycling fees mailed to him - before he turned back to his snack. The coffee had cooled slightly but it was still delicious, and he sipped it with every evidence of delight.

He’d only just got a bite of his bagel when a security guard from the fourth level burst into his office, looking frantic.

Tseng sighed, set the bagel down, and eyeballed the man. “What now?” he said, fully aware of the whining note that had crept into his voice.

“Sir, it’s the prototype,” the guard said, panting. “It’s gone _missing_.”

 

**=====**

 

Tifa looked supremely unamused when Vincent showed up several days later. It wasn’t his usual day and he hadn’t called ahead, and he had come bearing some sort of large crate that left muddy imprints on the bar’s hardwood floors.

“Vincent Valentine,” she said, crossing her arms to emphasize just _how_ unimpressed she was. “You had better have a damn good reason for this shit.”

“I do,” he said, nodding at Cloud, who’d come to stand next to his wife. “I think you’ll both enjoy this, or at least find it comical.”

With that, he popped the tabs on the crate, allowing the lid to fall down. Vincent then launched into a nonsensical story about how he’d stumbled across the Turks a few days prior.

“Is there a point to this?” Tifa asked, arms tightening. This only succeeded in distracting both men, as her arms gave her ample bust a rather heightened push-up effect.

“Yes, sorry,” Vincent said, shaking his head to bring himself back to the subject at hand. “When we finally found the tech, it was _this_.”

“A robot that looks like me?” Tifa asked. She looked like she was going to punch someone, and coming from the martial artist, that punch could actually hurt. Surprisingly, neither she nor her husband seemed to have heard the news, or they would have jumped to conclusions immediately. Vincent felt obliged to enlighten them, a smile playing across his face.

“A _sex robot_ that looks like you. Apparently the scientists at R &D have a rather unique sense of humor.”

At this, both Tifa and Cloud turned contemplative. There was silence for several moments before Cloud spoke, slowly.

“ _Please_ tell me you guys are thinking the same thing I’m thinking,” he said.

Tifa smirked. Vincent did as well, although he was reaching out to turn the robot on at the same time.

The Tifa-bot blinked itself to awareness. It’s eyes focused on Cloud. “You’re cute,” it said, coming to stand alongside him.

“Right,” Cloud said, nodding decisively. He stepped away from it, striding toward the door of the bar, which he locked securely, flipping the open sign over to read CLOSED in the process.

“Upstairs?” Tifa asked.

“Upstairs,” Cloud agreed.

 

**=====**

 

Mihael never _did_ get that raise, however.  

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot believe I wrote 7,200 of sex-bot-chasing. I hope you enjoy it, Woodster, because I'm slightly mortified with myself.


End file.
